As well as the castle there were many other buildings within the wooden stockade: stables and livestock barns; a bakery, a brewery and a cookhouse; houses for families; and storerooms for smoked meat and fish, flour, cider, cheese, and hay. The hay store was out of use in July, when there was plenty of new grass for the livestock to graze.

The first time, Ragna took him there under the pretext of showing him a place where his men could temporarily store their weapons and armor. He kissed her as soon as she closed the door, and the kiss was even more exciting than the first time. The building quickly became a place of regular assignation. As night fell—late in the evening at this time of year—they would leave the keep, as most people did in the hour before bedtime, and go separately to the hay store. The room smelled moldy, but they did not care. They caressed each other more intimately with each passing day. Then Ragna would call a halt, panting, and leave quickly.

They were scrupulously discreet, but they did not completely fool Genevieve. The countess did not know about the hay store, but she could sense the passion between her daughter and the visitor. However, she spoke indirectly, as was always her preference. “England is an uncomfortable place,” she said one day, as if making small talk.

“When were you there?” Ragna asked. It was a sly question, for she already knew the answer.

“I’ve never been,” Genevieve admitted. “But I’ve heard that it’s cold and it rains all the time.”

“Then I’m glad I don’t have to go there.”

Ragna’s mother could not be shut down that easily. “Englishmen are untrustworthy,” she went on.

“Are they?” Wilwulf was intelligent and surprisingly romantic. When they met in the hay store he was gently tender. He was not domineering, but he was irresistibly sexy. He had dreamed one night of being tied up with a rope made of Ragna’s red hair, he told her, and he had woken up with an erection. She found that thought powerfully arousing. Was he trustworthy? She thought he was, but evidently her mother disagreed. “Why do you say that?” Ragna asked.

“Englishmen keep their promises when it suits their convenience, and not otherwise.”

“And you believe that Norman men never do that?”

Genevieve sighed. “You’re clever, Ragna, but not as clever as you think you are.”

That’s true of a lot of people, Ragna thought, from Father Louis all the way down to my seamstress, Agnes; why shouldn’t it be true of me? “Perhaps you’re right,” she said.

Genevieve pushed her advantage. “Your father has spoiled you by teaching you about government. But a woman can never be a ruler.”

“That’s not so,” Ragna said, speaking more heatedly than she had intended. “A woman can be a queen, a countess, an abbess, or a prioress.”

“Always under the authority of a man.”

“Theoretically, yes, but a lot depends on the character of the individual woman.”

“So you’re going to be a queen, are you?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to be, but I’d like to rule side by side with my husband, talking to him as he talks to me about what we need to do to make our domain happy and prosperous.”

Genevieve shook her head sadly. “Dreams,” she said. “We all had them.” She said no more.

Meanwhile, Wilwulf’s negotiations with Count Hubert progressed. Hubert liked the idea of smoothing the passage of Norman exports through the port of Combe, since he profited by levies on all ships entering and leaving Cherbourg. The discussions were detailed: Wilwulf was reluctant to reduce customs duties and Hubert would have preferred none at all, but both agreed that consistency was important.

Hubert questioned Wilwulf about getting the approval of King Ethelred of England for the agreement they were negotiating. Wilwulf admitted that he had not sought prior permission, and said rather airily that he would certainly ask the king to ratify the deal, but he felt sure that would be a mere formality. Hubert confessed privately to Ragna that he was not really satisfied with this, but he thought he had little to lose.

Ragna wondered why Wilwulf had not brought one of his senior counselors with him to help, but she eventually realized that Wilwulf did not have counselors. He made many decisions at shire court, with his thanes in attendance, and he sometimes took advice from a brother who was a bishop, but much of the time he ruled alone.

Eventually Hubert and Wilwulf came to an agreement and Hubert’s clerk drew up a treaty. It was witnessed by the bishop of Bayeux and several Norman knights and clergymen who were in the castle at the time.

Then Wilwulf was ready to go home.

Ragna waited for him to speak about the future. She wanted to see him again, but how was that possible? They lived in different countries.

Did he see their romance as merely a passing thing? Surely not. The world was full of peasant girls who would not hesitate to spend a night with a nobleman, not to mention slave girls who had no choice in the matter. Wilwulf must have seen something special in Ragna, to contrive to meet her in secret every day only to kiss and caress her.

She could have asked him outright what his intentions were, but she hesitated. It did a girl no good to seem needy. Besides, she was too proud. If he wanted her, he would ask; and if he did not ask, then he did not want her enough.

His ship awaited him, the wind was favorable, and he was planning to leave the next morning, when they met at the hay store for the last time.

The fact that he was leaving, and that she did not know whether she would ever see him again, might have dampened her ardor, but in the event it did the opposite. She clung to him as if she could keep him in Cherbourg by holding on tightly. When he touched her breasts, she was so aroused that she felt moisture trickle down the inside of her thigh.

She pressed her body to his so that she could feel his erection through their clothes, and they moved together as if in intercourse. She lifted the long skirt of her dress up around her waist, to feel him better. That only made her desire stronger. In some deep cellar of her mind she knew that she was losing control, but she could not make herself care.

He was dressed like her except that his tunic was knee length, and somehow it got lifted up and pushed aside. Neither of them was wearing underwear—they donned it only for special reasons, such as comfort when riding—and with a thrill she felt his bare flesh against her own.

A moment later he was inside her.

She vaguely heard him say something like: “Are you sure . . . ?”

She replied: “Push, push!”

She felt a sudden sharp pain, but it lasted only seconds, and then all was pleasure. She wanted the feeling to go on forever, but he moved faster, and suddenly they were both shaking with delight, and she felt his hot fluid inside her, and it seemed like the end of the world.

She held on to him, feeling that her legs might give way at any moment. He kept her close for a long time, then at last drew back a little to look at her. “My word,” he said. He looked as if something had surprised him.

When at last she could speak, she said: “Is it always like that?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “Hardly ever.”

* * *

The servants slept on the floor, but Ragna and her brother, Richard, and a few of the senior staff had beds, wide benches up against the wall with linen mattresses stuffed with straw. Ragna had a linen sheet in summer and a wool blanket when it was cold. Tonight, after the candles had been snuffed, she curled up under her sheet and remembered.

She had lost her virginity to the man she loved, and it felt wonderful. Furtively, she pushed a finger inside herself and brought it out sticky with his fluid. She smelled its fishy smell, then tasted it and found it salty.

She had done something that would change her life, she knew. A priest would say she was now married in the eyes of God, and she felt the truth of that. And she was glad. The thrill that had overwhelmed her in the hay store was the physical expression of the togetherness that had grown so fast between them. He was the right man for her, she knew that for certain.

She was also committed to Wilwulf in a more practical way. A noblewoman had to be a virgin for her husband. Ragna could certainly never wed anyone other than Wilwulf now, not without a deception that could blight the marriage.

And she might be pregnant.

She wondered what would happen in the morning. What would Wilwulf do? He would have to say something: he knew as well as she did that everything was changed now that they had done what they had done. He must speak to her father about their marriage. There would be an agreement about money. Both Wilwulf and Ragna were nobility, and there might be political consequences to discuss. Wilwulf might need King Ethelred’s permission.

He needed to discuss it with Ragna, too. They had to talk about when they would marry, and where, and what the ceremony would be like. She looked forward eagerly to that.

She was happy, and all these issues could be dealt with. She loved him and he loved her, and they would be partners together throughout their lives.